By Steve Rubinstein
The day we met it did not rain until we fell
into a rocking slumber side by side
her tent held to the metal deck with duct tape
mine blown off in Ketchikan
her lips so close I thought I heard her calling out
a name she swore she did not know.
From that day on I saw her shaped from water
eyes aglow with each dark cloud
spirit lifted, lit, reflected in each puddle
forming at her feet from falling rain
or so I would remember I believed
when I believed in truths
I believed in rain.